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Roland Grey (and Zara Serena Freya)- Tower of Oculus, Ekilore

Zara stretched and grinned. During the whole spiel, she had taken to sitting on the floor and yawning every few minutes even though she wasn't tired. Like most of the others, she was rather curious about the monks and the prophecy and the like. After all, she didn't really believe in fate or anything spiritual like that. Still, it would help people and a swordsman's first duty was to help people. Plus, it seemed like it was going to interesting. Zara's grin widened, this time not fake at all.

"I'm in," she stated, still grinning.

With the latest individual accepting, that made all but Percival and Roland to have yet accepted the monks offer. Roland gazed into the monk's eyes. It was a strange feeling Roland had whenever the monk spoke. It was as if everyone word he uttered demanded absolute attention, as if everything he said would be important. Roland had met few men in his life that had his effect on him. It was usually him who would have the effect on another, or so he imagined. He knew very many who admired him this way, after all. But this was different. When the monk finished addressing Crystia, he addressed the rest of them, with the same imposing voice that demanded their respect and attention. The mention of magic distilled a bit of anxiety in Roland, none of which he physically displayed, but instead harbored inside of him. Magic was, after all, a rarity of the current times, and many subjects related to it was often considered taboo. Roland didn’t like the artifacts origin from that area.

Yet what the monks said next made Roland think. The goal of creating something that this world desperately needed was enticing. But it was as the monks said: Was it worth the quest? Roland thought it over. His loyalty lied with Hector and Reigncliff foremost. He would want nothing more than to see his lord sit upon the thrown of Ethora, which is his rightful position. Roland would do anything to bring him there. If what the monks said was true, this orb could help bring him there. Through Roland’s fame and reputation upon its completion, he could be boosted into a more respectable position, which would no doubt help in Hector’s claim to the thrown. But besides all of that, Roland truly recognized that there was something wrong with Aerion. Maybe it was always like this. Maybe it only recently became thus. Either way, it was in need of fixing, and Roland could think of no one more capable of doing so than himself. But what if he was wrong? What if this ended up making things worse? Roland weighed the options, before making up his mind. His pulled out his sword from its sheath.

“This quest is indeed befitting of one such as me. I vow to gather these shards and place them back together. I will not falter, and every foe that will stand in my way, no matter where he may hail from, shall be felled in pursuit of this cause. Let it be known that upon this day, Roland of the House Grey, champion of Reigncliff, will see this mission done.”

__________________

A Legend once told me that roleplaying is about bringing people together and celebrating creative vision.
Paired with the ArtsyInfinite and the Spectacular Shak

"How kind of you," Ava patted Eveylnn's hand. "To show such mercy is rare in a mercenary. Isn't it odd though mercenary almost sounds like mercy?"

"My, my, so it does!" Eve said with a chuckle. "You are quite the word bond maker, aren't you? Though, I wouldn't mind more bond making of my own..." she then winked.

Soon her eyes was set upon her payment - seven silver coins about as shiny as the jewels upon her battle-gear prospect. She happily accepted each coin, and shined them up with her sleeve as she carefully held one up near her left eye, as she gazed on how it shined with the light of the sun. "I humbly thank you," thanked Eve. "I knew it was unjust to disappoint lady luck. However, may those orcs rest in peace. Or pieces in their own situation."

Soon the cries of laughter and enjoyment was broken up by a stranger. "Excuse me, but I do believe I overheard that you are in fact mercenaries, is that correct?" he said. Eve looked upon her fellow companions as they addressed him. Soon he spoke again. “I will pay you 70 silver to each of you, and an additional 200 to be split amongst the survivors upon completion.”

"70...!" Eve smiled as he stood up from her stool and swooned towards the charitable stranger. "Mmm, Eve does like a man who knows her pleasures. And who is about jolly as he is wealthy. I'll make a special exception on your case."

Soon the job was accepted and the stranger became overjoyed. “Thank you, warriors! Now, I know you wouldn’t want to set off right away, and without any knowledge of the mission. Tomorrow at the break of dawn, meet me in front of the gates of Dalenham, ready to go, and I’ll bestow upon you the first half of the payment, as well as additional information. Is this acceptable? I will see you tomorrow, then. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Save your thanks for when we actually finish the job.” the young man that Eve caught her eye upon - Varian said. The merchant nodded in understanding, and departed. Varian eyed him the entire time while he left the tavern, before leaning over to the others. “Well, we're our opportunity. You want to continue on with us, then we'll go together on this job tomorrow. If you don't, here in Dalenham is where's we'll part way. Either way..."

"Hark my friends!" Eve addressed. "I would soon be showered with my father's blood if I did not gain such a furious and handsomly-paid task, working along side such beautiful people. The talented Eveylnn shall accompany thee, and I would gladly dance your fears and troubles away. Until then, sleep well! I hope you will dream of me.. tonight."

Percival and Roland Grey- Ekilore

The lead monk seemed to be pleased as a small smile stretched across his face, as one by one the Knights accepted the quest despite some hesitation. The hesitation was understandable to be sure as such as a powerful artifact did sound too good to be true, but one had to place faith in the Monks of Ekilore. They were to be trusted as they have guided civilization with benevolence. So why was Percival so silent? Was it doubt? Was it simply overwhelming? Or was it fear? His brother showed no feeling as he proudly proclaimed his faith in the monks and their quest: “This quest is indeed befitting of one such as me. I vow to gather these shards and place them back together. I will not falter, and every foe that will stand in my way, no matter where he may hail from, shall be felled in pursuit of this cause. Let it be known that upon this day, Roland of the House Grey, champion of Reigncliff, will see this mission done.”

The monk raised a eyebrow, amazed by the enthusiasm of Roland. "While your desire to be the champion of the land is welcome, do not dare think you can do this alone. Pride comes before the fall."

Roland eyed the monk and his words. It wasn't the first time he was scolded by others in this regard, but Roland had proven he was more than capable of balancing what he would call his 'confidence', and his skill. But in an effort not to show disrespect to the monks, he merely nodded in understanding, if only for the sake of their titles.

As the Monk responded to Roland and spoke to him as a wise mentor would to a student, Percival sunk into a low posture, head down, admiring the floor for whatever reason. His brother easily accepted a heroic role with only glory in mind yet Percival, who knew he had a noble spirit, could only weep in his own self pity. The Monk cocked his head as he looked at him. "Is something wrong, Ser Percival Grey?"

"Ah..no…nothing at all."

"Then I take it that you accept this quest?"

"Yes, of course. I shall do my best to carry out this quest. I just..."

"I would expect nothing less. I see that you have a great destiny before you and that you words and actions will do much to influence the world. Do not let your faith waver," the monk said, appearing to reassure the young noble of Ethora.

"I do have a few words to say before I send you all into the world. Firstly, while we have kept knowledge of the Orb of Ardor hidden within the confines of this great tower, they are others who undoubtedly have knowledge of it as well. These nefarious groups will seek you out once word of your actions spread throughout the lands of Aerion. You must prepared to fight. Blades will bleed and shields will shatter. They will do everything they can to stop you. You must make sure they do not succeed."

The monk mentioned the fact that others would be after them to try to stop them from getting the orb. Roland wonder why this would be so. If the orb truly was the key to 'everlasting peace', why would someone want to prevent it? But a thought had occurred to Roland. Perhaps the orb was capable of multiple abilities, and the ones after it would simply be after a different power, one more selfish and individual, Roland thought.

"Second, to aid you in setting out on your journey, we have commissioned a ship to send you off to your first of many destinations. The ship awaits you at the dock at the base of the tower, where it will take you to the land of Shinguo. Upon arrival, you will be greeted by a friend, one who will help guide you to where the first shard of the Orb is presumably located. My Eunuch friend there will set you out the door. The fate of Aerion rests in your hands. And may the grace of your Gods guide you."

Percival Grey bowed to the Monks and slowly made his way to the door, awaiting the Eunuch to guide them. Roland bowed as well, joining his brother and the others at the door. "Come with me, my lords. I fear time is not our friend." The Eunuch shuffled his feet to the door, opening it for the others and guided them down the stairs, elevator, and through the grand library back outside on the ground level. Percival welcomed the ground, enjoying the smell of the fresh air of the Deep Blue. Seeing everything from ground level was strangely refreshing, if only because he could see literally the entire world as he knew from the top of the observatory.

"Come with my lords. We must head down to the docks." The Eunuch walked a fair pace down to the docks where a large boat was awaiting them.

Sitting at a small, quiet port was a single ship. Black as night with red accents, the ship had white sails with the symbol of the monks of Ekilore embroidered in red. It was a fair size, clearly having a few decks and rooms to be used. It appeared sturdy, fast, and a perfect ship for traveling the Deep Blue and Sea of Storms, a fact that could ease many. A number of sailors were preparing the ship, hoping to get it ready for departure in time. They were rushing, clearly, but were doing so with some degree of effectiveness.

"I must say, I expected the vessel to carry us on this most noble quest to be something a bit less...shabby." Roland stepped forward, looking over the ship.

"Shabby is one way to look at it." A voice addressed the knights. Roland turned around and saw a man, about the same height and build as he, but with a large, black beard. He wore a large, black Tricorne, accompanied under hair combed underneath. He had a black waistcoat with red and orange linings across the edges of it, and matching styles in pants. If Roland knew anything about the styles of Ethorian dress, and he most certainly did know, than he was certain the man was from Ethora, particularly from the accursed region of Dedris, and probably the captain of the vessel. "I look at its dark colors as subtle. I look at it's size as inconspicuous. I look at its unadorned design as discreet. Given the nature of your journey, I imagine these are advantageous, are they not?"

The man eyed the group of so-called knights, and took off his hat to them, giving them a bow of respect. "My name is Richard. Richard of House Crewe, service to House Morok of Dedris. I shall be your captain on this voyage. You best get all of your belongings on board. As I am told, we are on a tight schedule."

Crystia watched Roland from the corners of her eyes, as he bent his head and proclaimed his duty to the supposedly honorable quest, and wondered where he got that stick up his ass. Wherever it originated from, it affected him with more than just an arrow-straight spine. He seemed to think he was important in the grand scheme of things, simply because two humans wearing shiny clothes rutted one night and showered him in gifts that no others would benefit from, suffering at the whims of a mere man, each of whom were unfit to rule. In her experience, anyone who thought they were important was usually just a pompous moron who couldn't deal with their own pathetic insignificance and the fact that what they did was meaningless. Inconsequential. Such thoughts would be broken soon enough, seeing as the inhabitants of the world needed a magic item to fix their problems, instead of the poetic justice that was meant to fall upon their heads. Not that the elf would have begrudged them it; they'd be very boring if they weren't dim.

Further blabbering from the mouths of Monks, potentially including the entire group, to inflate the egos of those not capable of realizing their own self-worth. It was an interesting concept, for her of all people to be a Lord or Knight, though she suspected their titles would be worth less than a severed foot to anyone outside of this Tower of Oculus. Despite the fact that these Monks seemed to think their titles would be well known, for they wouldn't get to be swarmed by ne'er-do-wells without a star hovering over their heads, announcing to their armed audience that the heroes had arrived. She needed to compose a good name for the bards to sing of, assuming that they were at all successful in their quest. Or that the whispering book didn't reveal an unfortunate secret. Or act like a magical beacon to those who would seek them out, which would be quite unfortunate indeed. Not that she'd let go of it, in either case.

Ser Crystia, she liked the sound of that, descended the depths of the tower at the instruction of the Monks with the same reserved steps and demeanor that she'd carried herself with throughout the whole ordeal. Though she was particularly dreading the trip to come, having to concentrate on a rocking ship that would attempt with all the ocean's might to give her a queasy stomach or unrestful sleep. That was before she could dread the idea of eating whatever food the sailors brought with them, or their potential rowdiness, or whatever amorous activities might occur beneath the deck of the ships. If she could help it, she would spend much of her time in the Crow's Nest, so she could watch the trials and tribulations of the people; one of her favorite activities, in fact, and in no small part for the thrill of invading the privacy of others, as though she were some kind of omniscient being. Except not that, for Fate would doubtless try to poof her away if she were to compare herself to it.

The ship itself was doubtlessly elegant, even featuring one of her favorite colors, but it was clearly intended to intimidate those with fear in their hearts and no food in their bellies. There were so many legends on the tip of her tongue, describing phantom ships or pirate lords, that were no doubt passed around with all the twists of many tellings, much like the talk of her own people, in fact. She imagined she looked quite the oddball to the other Knights of Ekilore, though they would come to know her soon enough, what with the cramped spaces they would no doubt have to find lodging in, and the landscapes of Aerion did not lend themselves to a comfortable bed for every day of travel, so they would need to set up guard duty, as well. Though the armored man could probably be suckered into such a thing, given his immediate response to the sight of the ship. Nobility and honor, all of the things that such folk claimed to represent yet rarely acted as such.

Then came the Captain, who Crystia simply had to watch introduce himself, even though she had to watch him discreetly. She stepped slightly ahead to greet the Captain, a smile coming to her pale lips. "It's lovely to meet you, Richard of House Crewe, and might I say that your hat is glorious?" She complimented him enthusiastically and without any regard for etiquette; in her eyes, kindness was enough. "I haven't seen such a fine article of clothing since acquiring my cloak."

>> AVA
>> The Broken Keg, Dalenham, Eveamoor
Avangeline clapped her hands at the acceptance of a new quest. As much as she would have liked a fortnight or so's rest between now and her next job, nobody could turn down seventy pieces of gold as well as a split of 200 at the end. Who was this man? Not a merchant, that was for sure. Avangeline was too polite to pry at a client (though Cass seemed happy enough to do it for her) but she couldn't help but feel that there was a certain danger brewing and closing in. Luckily, Avangeline loved danger! To be given an opportunity to both show off and improve her skills was not something she passed up. Ever.

"Hark my friends!" Eveylnn cheered. "I would soon be showered with my father's blood if I did not gain such a furious and handsomly-paid task, working along side such beautiful people. The talented Eveylnn shall accompany thee, and I would gladly dance your fears and troubles away. Until then, sleep well! I hope you will dream of me.. tonight."

"Huzzah!" Avangeline raised her cup into the air and downed the rest of her mead. "To find work so fast is unheard of. You weren't wrong when you said that work finds us, Varian."

She ordered another mead, which was brought to her shortly afterwards with the others' drinks. She took another gulp and instead of discussing something productive like the upcoming mission, she decided to go with something very useless.

"You know what we are in need of?" Avangeline drew out her question, but did not wait for anyone to answer it. "A name! Every band of mercenaries has a name, regardless of their time spend together."

She pondered a minute, though several names popped into her head instantly. It was a matter of sorting the crazy from the appropriate.

"How about... the Magnificent Seven? Wait... no," Avangeline tapped her lip. Wasn't there a band of horseman that went by the same name? "As we met in Dalenham, which is governed under our beautiful Sky Queen, why don't we name ourselves the Windwalkers? It has a nice ring to it and sounds fearful if you say it in a low enough tone by a barkeeper. What do you think?"

One by one the other members accepted after her, which gave her a sense of pride, as she was the first to say it. A strange feeling washed over her as if she was being intensely watched and dissected by someone near her. Her companion’s talons on her robed shoulders rearranged themselves, she had begun calling him Niolas, and his stance was a lot more aggressive with his aggression directed at the overly curious man that stood beside her. With a beak slightly open and wings ready for flight as if was if he dared the man to make one step before he devoured his eyeball. Tamor coaxed him down as she sung hymns Eislynn had taught her; they were solely about Tella’s divinity. Somehow he had crept up on her, how could she not have noticed someone who stood next to her? If her skills were that undeveloped Tamor knew she must recant her acceptance and take position on nearest windowsill. At least if she took the plunge on the way down she’d be overwhelmed with the breathtaking sights below and maybe even enough to take hers completely. Tamor shook her head back in forth, she wanted to rid her mind of those dangerous thoughts that were hand delivered from Dabel.

The man who called himself Roland Grey of the House of Grey (how original) had made a outlandish response that’s alerted everyone in the vicinity of what a big ego he had. Tamor wondered what he lacked in other areas to make room for his ego and who had inflated it so much? Clearly it was the only thing about him that had gotten blown up in awhile. For some reason the head monk questioned the man beside him, Percival Grey, who far more intrigued Tamor than Roland… Grey. How hadn’t she seen that one, of course they were brothers but why was one’s armor openly displayed with his belonged House and the other not? It was best not dwell on personal curiosities of others that would never have normally given her the time of day and why should they now? Before her mind had shifted onto the fact that she was yet again alone the Head Monk addressed them one last time before he sent them away with the Eunuch.

As an extra precaution Tamor made it her sole mission to be the last person in the group. It wasn’t like Niolas to have an aggressive nature to those who he didn’t know but he was very protective of her for a reason she had yet to grasp. The man’s robe gave nothing away, no clues, no hints but why couldn’t Tamor shake this feeling? Hers on the other hand would only reveal something to another Raelusian, was he? An urge to tell everyone to individually introduce him or herself came over her but she swallowed it in fear that some might reject the possibly poorly time suggestion. Eventually they arrived at a black ship and by Tella’s name what an ominous ship it was, painted all black and red as if Dabel himself had designed it. As a man arrived Niolas took off into the sky as if he were surveying the entire ship to see if it fit his pleasing. Tamor noticed how one elf perked up at the sight of the man, perhaps he would become a one-night suitor for her no doubt she’d be pleased. She was even the first to greet him this lead Tamor to wonder what the inside of the captain’s room looked like, well, at least someone would see it.

“We already have one Captain of the ship,” Tamor mumbled as she passed the others and headed onto the ship but not before she asked for blessing from both Tella and Altantia. Her distaste for Roland was growing by the minute; she made the justification that it must be mutual. “We don’t need two.”

Cassandra "Cass" Alexandera and Bofvar Blyr- The Broken Keg- Dalenham

“Oh I do like me games, little lady,” Bofvar looked Cass up and down shrewdly. He was fairly confident he could beat her in almost anything she could come up with. Never one to turn down a challenge, he weighed the thought only momentarily before he made up his mind. Drinking was a favorite past time of his after all, combined with the company of such a specimen, he could think of no better way to burn the time. The added incentive of doing anything he wanted, it was just too rich.

“Ah, you got yourself a deal! Just don’t cram too many drinks down that lovely gullet, wouldn’t want your mouth getting tired before I claim my prize,” He proudly boasted before calling for a nearby barmaid. Bofvar paid only passing attention to the ongoings of Varian and his newfound company. Newfound, wealthy company that is. It mattered very little to him at what Varian got him mixed up in. Especially at the price he overheard. Bofvar would do all sorts of rebel rousing for seventy silver, he always aimed to misbehave after all.

Why with that kind of coin, he could drink himself into a drunken stupor for a blissfully long time. Or maybe even do something productive. He quickly dismissed that particular idea before he could even invest much time in its fulfillment.

“What will you be having, sir?” The maid approached and asked him with an almost disgustingly sweet tone. The young girl was obviously compensating for the revulsion she had for the Dwarf. Her tone may have been friendly and cheery, but her ghastly looks toward the Dwarf said it all. She cared little for him and his ilk, or maybe just him in general. It hardly bothered him, however. In fact, it only made her all the more charming, especially since she was obligated to wait on him.

“Not me.” He pointed at Cass with a devious smile. “That fine example of bad childrearing will have a dose of Ethorian Liquor, an easy start to our little game.” He winked across the table at her, the maid quietly shuffling off to procure the drink. “Unless of course, you want to try something a little stronger?” Bofvar flexed his arms and laughed uproariously.

"Hey if you want to lose, I'll take these baby drinks all night," Cass laughed, as she snatched the drink from the barmaid and gulped down. In a very lady-like fashion belched with satisfaction, before giggling at her own accomplishment. It was a new record for downing that, but she was sure to regret that later. "Here take this empty glass and fetch him some..." Cass paused. It was too early for that one drink, but was it too soon for that one? Oh what was she kidding. It was a Dwarf. He could hold it for a while before crashing to the ground like a sack of bricks. "Fetch this bearded beauty a Lion's Roar. It's a good ale from Idir. This dump ought to have it."

"Right away," the maid said, growing nervous as Cass glared at her.

"This one will hit ya pretty hard. Hope you can take it~."

Bofvar let a belly laugh rumble throughout the establishment. He found the girl and her fire to be both amusing and alluring. “My dear, I can take anything you throw my way and I do mean anything.” Bofvar waited impatiently for the maid to return, his fingers strumming on the thick wooden table. “So, are you looking forward to our evening together?” He spoke up as if his victory was assured, licking his lips to wet them from the day spent in the sun. “I bet you’re just dying to know what I have in store for you, but I’ll let that be a secret for another time,” he finished and stood up as the liquor girl approached with the witch’s brew.

“Thank ye lass!” He reached out and took the drink before the maid could even say a word. “Why don’t you go ahead and fetch one for my companion too. Misery loves company after all, and it would only be fair.” Turning, he held the fierce drink to his nose and took a stiff whiff of the concoction. “Whew! Enough to curdle the goat’s cheese!” He laughingly proclaimed. “My dear,” His attention returned back to Cass once again. “This one is for you, prepare to suffer defeat, or enjoy it, entirely up to you.” Winking at her once more, he brought the drink to his mouth and chugged it in its entirety before his smarts told him otherwise. It wasn’t called the Lion’s Roar for nothing. Bofvar swallowed and slammed the stein on the table as he struggled to stand through the burn. He coughed a few times and beat his fist against his chest triumphantly, if a bit weakly.

“Haha, like the swift kick of a jackass to the stones, that is!”

"Haha. That it is!" Cass said, before letting out a nervous laugh. Truthfully, she was hoping that would take Bofvar would lose his confidence, fall flat on his beard and that would be the end of it, but somehow the Dwarf stayed strong. Their legendary constitution lived up to the myth after all. The barmaid came with another Lion's Roar, one of the two drinks in all of Aerion that made Cass succumb to the allure of unconsciousness following a heavy night of drinking. The other was some drink from Vanaheim. She dare not utter its name.

"Bottoms up!" Cass yelled, hoping feigned confidence would push her through the pain. Cass took the drink down in one sitting, the alcohol rushing right through her. The room began to spin, her face matching the flushed red of her hair and her head throbbing. "Not a problem at all! Hey barmaid...get my friend a uhh...I don't feel so good...." her voice broke out in a moan, before expunging the majority of the last drink onto the floor. "Andal damn it!" She screamed, flipping the table over. "You win this one Dwarf! Varian pay the barkeep! Or not! I don't care!" Cass roared at her longtime friend, before smiling at the winner of the game. "So Bofvar, honey. What am I doing for you on this fine evening?~" Cass said with a not so subtle wink.

Bofvar only grinned and twirled his beard, his mind racing deep in thought. He himself had not been feeling normal since his bout with the Lion’s Roar. Liquor normally posed no problem for him and it still didn’t, but he would be remiss in not stating that he was a bit woozy. But, he wrestled the lion and won, that was all that mattered. Without a doubt, he knew he would win. How could a small female human best a Dwarf in drinking? The thought was preposterous.

The question remained, however. What would he have her do? Oh, he could fathom all sorts of activities that they could take part in. More than a few involved her putting that pretty mouth to work at something else besides yapping. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to suggest the things that came to mind. Maybe it was the drink talking in his head, but he could not do such a thing, and in such a way, with one of his group members. Maybe if things had unfolded in a more natural course, but as conquest of a game? That would make Cass no better than the corner w***e. Maybe she wasn’t, but it nagged at him nonetheless. Cursing himself and his honor, he finally coughed and spoke up.

“I tell you what you can do for me,” he whispered across the table in her direction. “Go get a room, lay in the bed and go to sleep. There is coin to be had and I’d rather not be fighting next to somebody who is already halfway dead,” he joked. “Let’s just say you owe me one, we can have our fun another time.” Casting her one last wink, although this one felt forced unlike the others, he turned his attention away from the woman and the hounding of his libido, back to Ava who had been mulling over a name for the group.

“Ava, my dear. Although you may look like a descendant of heaven and a walker of winds, do I myself look like such a creature?” He beamed one of his famous Bofvar smiles at her and wondered if his praise of her beauty won him any favor. “But alas, the name is good as any and you women folk are better to name things than I. I say call us anything but poor and I’m fine with it.”

Annoying wench. Stop asking stupid questions and let me get out of this tower, Auden thought as one of the two elves continued to question the Monks about the quest. Unrelenting her questions came, ever doubtful of everything said, she clearly had too much time on her hands. Her qualms where silenced with the monks handing over a tome to her, like a mother would to shut up her child whom wouldn’t stop crying for not getting their way. With a nod she finally accepted, with the other elf accepting soon after. The next one to accept was the one of the knights who seemed to have an extremely over-inflated ego, the kind that brought immense pleasure to Auden as he slowly crushed them. The final one to accept was Ser Percival Grey and he seemed to slightly resent his choice of accepting the quest, until the monk began addressing them as a group again. I have a feeling I'm not going to get along with many of these people too well.. Had worse companions though.

With the monk addressing them, Auden shot another look at Tamor after feeling a weird intent to kill coming from her. His gaze meet the hawks, it's stance becoming quickly more aggressive as Auden caught himself raising his hand in preparation to flick its head of with a quick wind blade. Control, control. Once you're out of this tower you can go find some-
“.. we have commissioned a ship to send you off to your first of many destinations.”

What. The. F***? Straight onto another boat. I'll kill you all. His extreme anger and frustration was hidden well by his years of practicing keeping a calm appearance, as well as the hooded robe that covered his entire body. The two brothers both bowed before moving towards the awaiting Eunuch. Auden was in no mood to care for the courtesy, sightly nodding his head in the directions of the monks before joining the others as they followed the Eunuch out of the tower.

Outside the tower, the monk picked up his pace as he guided them straight back to the docks in which mere hours ago Auden had left. Tamor, looks like you are definitely a blessing to me, especially in this situation those monks have thrust me into. I might have to kill your hawk first though. He thought sensing a very angry gaze on his back, which he assumed was coming from Tamor's hawk. Nearing the docks he came from the Eunuch turned, leading them towards a smaller and much quieter port that had a single ship docked at it. Their ship. The ship looked to be of an average size, most probably having two or three decks and enough room for private rooms for each of the newly formed Knights of Ekilore. The ship was a dark black with red accents, almost resembling a pirate ship and white sails that had the symbol of the monks of Ekilore embroided in red on them. There was a few sailors who were rushing to get the ship ready for there departure, which was obviously going to be as soon as they got on it, a notion that didn't help Auden's building rage. A shabby looking man greeted them when they got to the ship, defending his pride in joy. The man was clearly the Captain, a fact that was confirmed as well as his name being Richard.

The elf who had the multitude of questions for the monks was the first to step forward and formally greet the captain, though she did in in the way of a compliment which lead Auden to wonder what her true intention in addressing him first was. He didn't really care all that much for formalities at this point in time as he heard a mumbling Tamor complaining about Roland. She passed by him, saying another rude remark to herself, leaving Auden a good opportunity to introduce himself again. Following her onto the boat he walked past her.

“Don't be rude now Dwelf.” The words were said under his breathe as he passed her, just audible enough to have her second guess the passing comment.

Varian Sigmund- The Broken Keg, Dalenham

Varian cocked an eyebrow at Evelynn. He found her rather strange, although quite alluring too. But he was in no particular mood to call her out on her eccentricity nor attempt to make a move at her either. He found mixing work and pleasure never turned out right, so he had decided quite a long time ago not to get involved with anyone he worked with. Which was a particular shame now because of the large quantity of women with the group. Highly attractive women. Varian raised his ale a bit into the air along with Ava and Evelynn, though he didn't care to bash mugs together with them. It was nothing personal, but in their line of work, friends were hard to come by, or more appropriately put keep. There were others that sometimes worked with him alongside Cass, but they were with whatever Gods they believed in now. The thing Varian found darkly humorous was that he couldn't remember a single one of their names. Not one.

Varian smirked at Ava's mention of the Magnificent Seven as a group name. "Hmm, not sure that name will stick..." He said aloud, though he kept the reason to himself. What happens if one of them died? Do they chop off a number? Do they keep doing so until only Cass and Varian remain again, and they're known as the Magnificent Duo?

As Bofvar and Cass had their drinking contest, Varian was snapped out of his thoughts as Cass's body hit his shoulder, and then slumped onto the ground. He checked the mugs around her, noticing the Lion's Roar, and shaking his head as he took another gulp of his own drink.

"Well, might as well get her off the floor..."

He knelt over and picked up her body. In her unconscious state, Cass was apparently having some sort of drunk-filled delusion, and she continued to speak in gibberish and flail around a bit, perhaps still assuming she was fighting someone. Varian easily slung her body over his shoulder as he proceeded to get her out of the area. Cass flailed once more, her boot accidentally hitting a patron right on the head. He yelled in pain, and stood up.

"Hey, Highman! Just what do you think you're doing!?" He yelled at Varian. Varian, unsure of what happened, turned his body around to face the man. "Hmm?" He said as he turned, only to have Cassandra's foot inadvertently connect with the man's face once more. He doubled back, and held his nose, from which blood now flowed freely. Varian examined the patron, confused as to how he acquired the injury. "You ought to check on that nose, friend. You would not want to dirty up the place even more with your own gash."

The patron angrily huffed at Varian. "My own gash, is it?!" He grabbed for a bottle he had close by it and flung it right at Varian. Varian, who anticipated the bottle, ducked down, and the bottle flew to the other side of the bar, nailing another patron square in the head. The patron instantly fell to the ground, blood able to be seen from his head. His companions with him all gathered around. One of them, a bit taller than the others, looked over to the side of the bar where Varian stood. Varian noticed an insignia on his shirt which prominently displayed the colors of the League of Warriors, a figther's guild in Eveamoor. Great.

"Who threw that bottle?!" He shouted. At this moment, Cass had temporarily come to for a moment, her vision blurred, but noticing Varian looking off into the side at someone. She reached for a bottle positioned at the side of the table, and threw it in that direction, missing the Lead of Warriors member badly and instead hitting the side of another patron on the far side of the room. The man yelped, and clutched his arm in pain, and his own compatriots, seeing the League of Warriors man standing, assumed he had done it. The third party began entangling with the second, and the League of Warriors men aimed at both Varian and the initial man and friends upon who's boot Cass had connected with. Varian, seeing that he was in the middle of both side's conflict, threw Cass's body right at a man who attempted to strike him. Varian then grabbed his ale and downed it all in one go, before smashing it onto the face of a man behind him. All around, chaos erupted. Varian turned to Ava, Alys, Bofvar, and Evelynn.

"Oi! Don't just sit there! Get off your as*es and start hitting people!"

__________________

A Legend once told me that roleplaying is about bringing people together and celebrating creative vision.
Paired with the ArtsyInfinite and the Spectacular Shak

The world around Tamor crashed and shattered into pieces, which in turn cut into her fragile psyche. A single word echoed in her head, Dwelf. In an instant her mind had simply reverted back to several prior where her and Niolas "practiced" her magic under a white oak tree. He's smile always caught her off-guard, like, he knew it was his secret weapon against her and it never failed to trip her up. Rarely had she managed to resist laughing at his overall aloof behavior... Where was he? Tamor had tried for what seemed like an eternity to solve that question but that day was nothing more than a smudge in her brain. Outwardly her facial appearance was solemn as she stood still with her mouth slightly agape and her eyes transfixed on what it seemed to be the open sea. A scream escaped her mouth as the golden hawk landed gently on her shoulder without warning; he had brought her back to reality. An embarrassed Tamor kept her shaky hands in front of her mouth, it was quite clear that her hands weren't the only things that were shaking.

"Y-you!" With her senses focused Tamor believed that that word had been spoken by him, the robed man, who coincidentally had just passed her. How could he have known what she is, how she's an abomination that even Tella would frown upon. "What did you just say? Why are you hiding your face? Who are you?"

She heard me. A smile crept onto Auden's face as he heard Tamor's voice again, this time asking questions. As he turned to address her he shot a weak wind spell into his hood, blowing it off to finally reveal his face and his sincere smile. "Pardon? Were you talking to me miss?" He was controlling his tone as much as he possible to make his reply to seem as gentle as possible. Tamor's hand flew from her face as she reached from something, anything to grab onto to balance herself. The presence of someone she had known, who knew her, was all too much for her. Not a word departed from her lips as he took a step closer to her, still smiling. "I guess you weren't talking to me." He smirked, raising his hood once again as he began heading towards the stairs that lead under deck. She'll follow me, she definitely will follow me.

He began exploring the lower deck, which he assumed was where he'd be sleeping for this seabound leg. Anticipation washed over his body when he spotted a room that had a closed door. This will work perfectly. Opening the door, it revealed a small room with two single beds lining opposing walls. In the middle of the room under the porthole was a single small table and chair. Quickly leaving the room he turned and began searching the area once again. With more haste in his step he made his way towards the end of the hallway towards a large room. Entering the room he spotted what he was after, a knife. The room he had entered had a few tables in it and some cutlery scattered throughout, most probably the ships galley. Promptly he grabbed the knife and began his way back to the small room he had earlier investigated. Waves of emotions were rolling through him as he rushed back into the small room. He immediately shut the door as he entered and began carving runes throughout the room in hard to see places. There was a huge smile on face as he dropped his hood, taking out the chair from under the table and facing it towards the door. Taking his place in the chair, he sat and began waiting for Tamor's inevitable entrance.

Before she had the chance to regain her composure he was gone from her sight. For once she had neglected how she felt everyone now perceived her and moved quickly towards the staircase that lead below deck. Her avian companion flew from her shoulder, once again he returned to his "duty", if Tamor had a clear mind she would've noticed his instant fear. She hadn't the slightest clue what she would say once she got down there but she had to be sure he was who she thought. Each cautiously taken step felt like it might be her last as she chosen to go into an unknown area alone.

"I know you're down here," mumbled Tamor as she scanned the vicinity. Somehow she hoped he would just announce his presence.

She paused in front of the nearest room where the door was swung wide open. The contents of the room were irrelevant to her search because it didn't contain him. A realization dawned on her every wooden door was partially opened except for one. Tamor knew since she hadn't noticed this right away it was further proof of her incompetence. Right away, Tamor marched over to the door and almost considered knocking but instead inhaled a rather large amount of air before she foolishly yet slowly opened the door. It wasn't her best idea but she had to know if it was really him, if her secret was now known. Her hands pushed against the wood inch by inch until her golden yellow eyes lined up with brown ones.

"I-I-I, how? Why? You," Her words were jumbled much like her thoughts. If anything the appearance of someone from her past was nothing more than trouble.

Standing, Auden bowed at Tamor's entrance, thinking whether or not to answer he questions he spoke, "Why hello Miss Bellfiend, long time no see."

"It can't be... Auden?" Soon she was drawn in by the need to get a closer look until she was less than an arms length away. "How long has it been?"

Slowly he began moving towards the door, keeping the same distance she had left between them. With the skill of an assassin he moved around until he was at he side, and close enough to get to the door in a rush. Tamor raised an eyebrow at his moments but never questioned her safety. "Yes, its me Tamor. It's been 11 years I believe. Have you been well?" Ever so slowly, he continued towards the door, now behind her, though their gazed hadn't been broken.

"You need a haircut, like usual," Tamor laughed a bit, she remembered how much she always wanted to cut it all off. As if they had transported back 11 years Tamor swiped a strain of hair out of his face. "11 years... Wow, where did you go?"

Laughing softly at her comment on his hair he continued on his path towards the door as she swiped a hair off his face. "Yes 11 years is a long time, time has definitely treated you well though." He said as he rose up his left hand to caress her cheek. He was only a step away from being able to shut the door now, almost ready to begin his fun.

"You always were a charmer but at least now you've grown into your body," She smiled at him but she had to make sure he didn't tell anyone that was her top priority. His touch was unexpected; the last man that had touched her that way was Niolas. Despite her blind trust in him she kept her hood up in fear that one of the other members might walk in on them. "Do you still live in Raelus?"

Gradually he removed his hand from her cheek as he took the final step, grabbing the door with his right hand. With a flick of his wrist the door was shut, and with another flick it was locked shut, activating his spell that would make the room soundproof and erase any presence of magic to anyone who was outside the room. "You wouldn't believe how happy I was when I realized it was you when we were at the tower Tamor. I was just thinking that I really needed a toy." He said the words so gently that it almost seemed as if he was complimenting her.

"Toy?" Tamor leaned her head to the left in confusion. "Auden, girls aren't toys. You should know this by now!"

Making a quick slapping motion with his hand, a torrent of air smacked Tamor across the face. “Toy’s don't back chat their owners, Dwelf." He cracked his neck side to side before taking a step towards her.

The pain throbbed as Tamor reeled back from Auden. She held her right hand against the side of her face. Her eyes widen, which were full of fear and disbelief locked onto Auden's. "Why did you do that?"

Ecstasy, pure ecstasy was flowing throughout Auden's body as Tamor's fear full eyes looked back in disbelief. That fear! It has been way too long since I last saw that. "Why?" He said taking another step towards her, "Because you are my toy, and toys don't back chat dwelf." Reaching out he grabbed her head and threw her towards the left wall, pulling her back by her hair just before she hit the wall, allowing her to fall onto the bed. With her hands Tamor tried to lash out at Auden still taken by surprise that he was actually hurting her. They had always been close friends and even though it had been 11 years he had no reason to treat her like this. Carelessly, he batted away Tamor's hand's as the swiped at him, with soft laughter beginning to escape him as he filled with joy. Another slapping motion followed by another torrent of air smacked Tamor across the face, forcing her down on the bed.

"Here's the deal Tamor, I'm a nice owner, and since we were childhood friends I'll give you one wish and keep your secret," Auden's words seemed genuine despite his motives. "In exchange for my generosity you become my toy and never telling anyone about this side of me. Though if you betray my good will, I'll kill you and anyone you tell in the most painful way possible."

It seemed as if Tamor's fate was already sealed there was no way Auden would relinquish his control over her. Had Tella put her in this predicament to test her? She couldn't wrap her mind around this, where was the Auden she once knew? Tamor struggled to sit up right to look her capturer in the eyes. She should've seen it before; his eyes lacked the softness they had before because now they were lifeless. "You-you must protect my life even at the cost of your own..." As a divine magic user Tamor was fairly certain that she could use her regenerative healing abilities to heal her from any injuries he'd inflict upon her. Yet, her tendencies to avoid combat would only slow down the group in the long run. Even with her life her life in immediate danger Tamor couldn't stop thinking about how she wasn't good enough. “What doe-?"

"Done. Now Strip." He cut in before she had a chance to complete her next sentence.

"Never!" Her fingers clutched her robes and pulled them inward toward the center of her body. Tamor was worried that she had agreed to something that was far more than anything she had pictured in her mind.

Picking her up by her hair and pulling her up to his face staring deep into her eyes he once again spoke. "Strip. Toys don't go against what their masters say." He held her there by her hair, awaiting her reply.

"No," Tamor's defiant attitude had flared to life. She wasn't sure what he wanted and she knew that she didn't want to give it to him.

"Tsk." He suddenly pulled her up higher, nearly ripping her hair out, before landing a solid punch to her stomach. She will be a good toy. He threw he head into the wall before flames began to gather in his hand. "Strip. Last chance, you don't want to die right here do you?" There was anger in his voice as the flame grew larger in his hand.

She cried out in pain causing Auden's twisted smile to grow. Defeated she removed her robes, which just left her overly large, plain white t-shirt that flowed down to right above her knees, much to Auden's dismay. "This is all you're getting. Enjoy!"

"Ah, that was a mistake Tamor." He laughed, extinguishing the flame in his hand as he punched her in the face knocking her down. He smirked as he heated up the knifes blade with his magic. "This will hurt a bit."

* * *

Auden stepped back, surveying the damage he had done. Tamor lay huddled and passed out in the corner with a large, burning gash down her back. Auden said no more while he recomposed himself. This exhilaration was exactly what he needed after a month of resisting his sadistic urges.

Percival and Roland Grey- Ekilore Port

"Ah, well a very merry thank you to you, madam." Captain Crewe exclaimed to Crystia, removing his hat from his head and gesturing with it as part of a bow. "I'm glad the monks rounded up at least one gracious guest." He said, his tone directed at Roland as he made his way onto the boat. He returned his gaze to Crystia. "The clothing is the finest the region of Dedris has to offer. Truly the envy of the world." He said pompously, his pride for his region quite evident, to which Roland shook his head in disgust, though he himself had done the same before.

"Captain Crewe. Percival Grey reporting," the young knight said as he boarded the ship. "Anything I can do to assist in the departure? The Monks made it sound like we must depart immediately." Percival was eager to help the captain, mostly due to a self imposed desire to lead the group. No doubt Roland would attempt to take charge, but Percival knew Roland to never be a patient man and easily irritable at best. His leadership could be disasterly and words offensive. Percival would have to be extra courteous in his dealings. Thankfully, he had enough experience in the various courts of Ethora to handle such things.

"What you speak is true, Ser Grey." He replied to him, checking across his complexion as he did so. "From what I understand, you're all in for quite a storied journey ahead of you. And though this quest may be secret from most, the eyes of the enemy are ever-moving. When the lot of you are aboard, we set sail to Shinguo. If your luck holds on and our grace with the Gods holds true, then the skies will be kept clear, and our presence may go unnoticed."

"How long do you think the voyage will take?" Percival asked.

"Honestly, brother." Roland interjected smugly. "You'd think they taught you anything about cartography in that appeaser of a region you call home. Travel by sea to Shinguo should take about a fortnight." One of the other knights, a hooded one of which Roland knew little about, passed a word onto him as she boarded, proclaiming he let the Captain do his job.

"I intend to let the good captain keep dominion over his ship, ser knight. I am merely extending my own right-deserved authority over the quest and it's affiliates." He retorted at the hooded Tamor as the knight passed by.

"And you would think your dear King Hector would teach you any etiquette."

"My lords, please," the Captain cut in, holding his arms up in an attempt to pacify the brothers. "I assure you. We'll be there before you know it."

Crystia~The Captain's boasting was well-deserved but perhaps a bit too congratulatory if his wealth was not going to be shared with the guests of his ship. Any opportunity to acquire such an item would have turned her head indeed, though not enough to bother calling down a storm and dooming the mission for it. Such were the troubles of possessing power. Though, the potential of visiting Shinguo along with the rest of the journey was promising, for it was a place she would rarely have visited on her own time and likely had all kinds of fashions she could adopt.

"It is a worthy hat indeed. But Dredris, hmm? All that business with human trafficking and so on cannot be very encouraging." Crystia commented flippantly, though her mind was quite focused on the concept of them being stolen away by the well-dressed man and sold as slaves. A collection of some powerful people from Aerion, delivered directly into their hands like a gift from the heavens themselves, and an opportunity only fools or those with honor would squander. Though she doubted their ability to properly incapacitate a mage such as herself, for any use of her not requiring completely restrained limbs would quickly end in escape. The reason being that magic was an excellent equalizer, and elven magic, no less. Those poor human fools left in the grasp of the fearful.

A claim most glorious fell upon Crystia's pointed ears, as one of the armored men that arrived with the air of an ego declared himself the leader of their so-called quest. The last time she had checked, there was no individual leader declared by the Monks, who were perhaps their only superior within the organization, because there would have been no hierarchy otherwise. Not that she would have minded the rule of a competent leader, so this man that named himself Grey would need something of an interrogation before he would be allowed to give commands as though he deserved the recognition.

The inky-haired elf slipped over to the Knight's side and watched him from behind her veil, before she spoke. "Sir Knight, I'm curious of which authority gives you rightful command over those gathered for this quest. Forgive my incredulity, but you are rather...baby-faced. Might I have heard of battles you've won with the clever use of sword-arms?"

Victoria "Alys" Taimor - The Broken Keg, Dalenham

Victoria felt the last vestiges of the Pyro-Ale slip down her throat leaving it's signature burning sensation trailing behind. With already a couple of mugs under her belt, she was feeling rather mildly tipsy as she sidled up to the bar, holding out as much as possible to not let slip her nearing drunken state. She took a moment to clench the bridge of her nose while scrunching up her eyes; an old barman's tale on a quick but minimal recovery effort from alcohol. In this moment of blindness, she felt a hand skim over the leather covering her backside before taking a quick grope. In surprise, she struck out blindly at the nearest patron, knocking the portly man off of his stool. Chaos ensued as a bottle flew past Victoria's head, rustling her hair as it sailed past and shattered against the wall behind her, showering Victoria with shards of glass. She rapidly ducked under the table as another bottle sailed for her, gathering her composure before re-emerging in order to fight.

Her first opponent was a rather large, burly man who came running at her, hands open as if to choke her. The man's face was contorted in rage and anger as he flung himself at her to which Victoria stepped aside, the man running into the wall behind her. Disorientated, he flung out his arm in her general direction, catching her sore shoulder in the process. Pain flooded her body as she sank to her knees, grimacing in pain and clutching her sore shoulder. Out of anger and pain she shot her leg out at the man, catching him in the side of the knee. She couldn't hear the sickening crunch as the man's knee broke, but she did hear his roars of pain, retreating victoriously to recover herself.

As she was backing up a pair of muscled arms wrapped around her body, pushing her arms light against her body and feeling up her chest as they enclosed around her.

"Well, well, well, what is a feisty young brood like you doing in a bar like this?" Came the gravelly voice.

Instinctually, she flung her head backwards, aiming for the man’s nose but instead smashing her head into the side of his chin; giving Victoria more pain than the man received. She could feel his hands cupping her chest, making her increasingly angry as he continued to feel her body. Reaching down, he only just managed to sink her teeth into the firm, muscular flesh of his forearms, obtaining a yell of anguish and pain in response. However these moves did little but make the man squeeze Victoria’s body harder until she began to find it difficult to breathe. Flailing with all her might, Victoria tried to free herself from the man’s grip however every move of hers only garnered a stronger grip on his behalf. Loosing air quickly, black dots began to flood her vision and she was sure she would soon fall unconscious.

Roland Grey- Port of Ekilore

Captain Crewe did not reply to Crystia's comments, but instead listened as Roland spoke his mind, and the woman questioned his capabilities as a leader. Roland, at the utterance of her words, turned his head gracefully, yet incredulously to look upon her. He gave her a look which reflected his opinion of the audacity she had to ask such a question, yet for the purpose of maintaining the bare minimum of pleasantries among the company, he tried to maintain his composure and speak with as little discourteousness as possible. Ignoring her jab at his complexion, Roland gave her a somewhat forced smile.

"I assure you, Ser Knight, that you will have more trouble hearing of battles that I have lost. My credentials are long and qualifying, though I am unsure of what information passes into your..." he paused, trying to look for the right word to describe her country of origin. "...trees." His voice was filled with the racism much common in Aerion, particularly among humans. "But if you have heard of the Grand Tournament of Ethora, then you will have heard of the three-time winner, Roland Grey. Which is who I am. I am also a member of the Lionguard, royal guard of the King of Ethora, may Andal forever watch over his soul, and of his rightful heir, Hector Reigncliff." The last bit he articulated full of pride and loyalty, championing his lord and whom he believed to be the rightful King of Ethora. "Are these merits to your liking, miss...?" He inquired to the elf, wondering what name to call her. Before he could get an answer, the Captain began ordering to the crew from afar, preparing to set sail.

"All accounted for then? Very well. All hands, raise anchor, lower the sails! We make for the port of Duānkǒu!"

Moments later, the ship departed from port, heading into the open sea of the Deep Blue. The Knights' journey was underway.

__________________

A Legend once told me that roleplaying is about bringing people together and celebrating creative vision.
Paired with the ArtsyInfinite and the Spectacular Shak

>> AVA
>> The Broken Keg, Dalenham, Eveamoor
She was quite disappointed that she didn't get to see the rest of Cass' hilarities, Varian inviting them to the bar fight before she had the chance to tell it. The chaos quickly erupted but Avangeline smiled as the patrons yelled at eachother. Bar fights were always a good way to enhance the reflexes. Drunken men and women were always unpredictable and threw heavy swings. It was a chance for Avangeline to not only improve her already fantastic reflexes, but to show all of these oafs that she was a force to be reckoned with!

She was quick to grab a bottle and smash the end to create a pseudo-sword; actual swords would be too un-sportsman ship of her and she'd be far too dangerous if she was put off guard for just a moment (she didn't want to kill anybody if she didn't have to). Her first victim was a dwarf who was throwing his fists around at nobody. He advanced on Avangeline but was quickly put down by a left hand punch to the stomach, winding him. Instead of leaving him on the ground, she lifted the heavy dwarf and placed him on a table. Poor little man would get trampled if he was there too long.

Her second was a human who decided it would be humorous to swing a bottle at her forehead. Avangeline ducked then kicked his leg, forcing him to the ground. With her other foot, she landed a firm kick right in the testicles. That should keep him down long enough until he had learned it was never a good idea to mess with young half-elf maidens in bar fights.

Her third was not by her own hand, but Nem had decided to join the fight as well. He knew not to kill anyone (a short shout from Avangeline stuck him in defensive mode, so he merely would snap at anyone who got too near) but a patron stepped on his tail and with a loud yelp and a snarl, he had clamped his teeth on the patron's leg. The man yelled and pulled his leg out of the grip, falling back into a bunch of chairs. Avangeline gave Nem a thumbs up, who replied with a happy bark.

She was yanked back by her own scarf, forcing Avangeline to step back into another man, this one burly and sour looking. He didn't smell very drunk, perhaps he just wanted to brawl, like Avangeline! She smiled at him and before he had time to figure out why, Avangeline jumped up, wrapped her legs around his neck and twisted herself down until she was on top of the man and his face was planted firmly into the cement. He was down. Nearly ripped the scarf too. The hide of him!

She heard a familiar voice, a yelp from a comrade. Alys was firmly caught within this man's grip and he wasn't just trying to choke her, he was groping her. Grabbing her bottle Avangeline darted over two tables and slid below the giant of a man, using the bottle to cut gashes into his ankles and shin. That didn't fell him but Avangeline didn't expect it to; her next move would make him wail. She grabbed a lemon from a glass that had yet to be smashed and squeezed it on the cut. As he began to cry, Avangeline moved up, quickly cutting his body up and down and pressing the lemon on it. Finally, he let go of her companion and held his arms up, trying not to move like he had just been badly burnt by the sun. For her final move and a reminder to never touch a woman like that again, she the bottle against his forehead, pressed the lemon on it and kicked him down.

"Never touch a woman like that, ever again," Avangeline said, sternly for the first time in a while, "otherwise you will find yourself without your means of manhood. You hear?" The man whimpered and Avangeline took that as a yes, and turned to her comrade, helping her to her feet. "I can't have you dying before the fun's barely begun!" Her smile had returned, as if nothing had happened.

Tamor slipped in and out of consciousness multiple times before the consciousness stuck and her eyes slowly opened themselves. Her body was slumped against the far wall and ached as she tried to reposition herself. After several failed attempts of trying to summon her strength she gave up completely. Unsure of what to do next she focused on the one thing that always kept her calm, The Council Of Nine, more specifically Tella. Tamor's lips, a paler shade than normal, quivered as she began to chant the hymns she had learned from Eislynn. To anyone else it would sound like gibberish but those who followed knew the words by heart. As she chanted on the wounds that marked her stomach, back, and legs disappeared almost as if they had never happened. Except the emotional damage would forever be there and not a day would go by where she would forget this moment of helplessness. Her affinity for divinity magic was at this moment a blessing instead of a curse that Tella had bestowed upon her but she knew not what would happen in combat.

Within her reach laid her clothes, they were even folded in a nice little pile as if to taunt her. The other knights had somehow failed to hear her bloodcurdling screams that left her throat as sore as her body felt. A nervous laugh came from Tamor and it slowly grew louder and louder. She couldn't believe that she had actually become more pathetic since she accepted the invitation. Her emotions shifted, her laughs became sobs to the point where she couldn't breathe normally.

***

"Tamor, this is Auden... Your new friend!"

Tamor couldn't help but laugh because she didn't have any friends, especially those of the male gender. It was another attempt at trying to force her to have some social skills that she clearly lacked. The boy that stood in front of her was quite scrawny with lively, brown eyes. They were his best feature Tamor reluctantly admitted. His clothes were all muddy as if he had just got back from an adventure in the mountains. Boldly he came up to her and sat next to her where she fiddled with that grass that lay by her shoes. Her mother had shoved this play date on her but that didn't mean she had to oblige her mother's request to be happy about it.

"Say hello, Tamor..."

No, mother, I won't.

"Tamor... Tamor... Tamor!"

***

Tamor's body lunged forward as she awoken from her dream state somehow she had dozed off. Her mind had wandered back to the days of her youth. The days that she would love to permanently forget about, the days she had forgotten about before Auden Radke appeared back into her life. What happened to the kid who would talk to her nonstop even though she hardly spoke a word back to him? His life had been turned upside at some point, why was that? A now intrigued Tamor propped herself up as she clutched a nearby chair that held her weight. Slowly she redressed, once again making sure her identity remained a secret, well, to everyone whose name wasn't Auden Radke. Tamor turned around to see that there was a mirror behind her and looked into it. Despite it having cracks and pieces missing she could still see her face, she was still crying. Her hands were used to wipe away the tears before she threw open the door in search of him.

Bofvar sat in his seat, his feet still propped on the table as he watched his comrades jump into action. What a fine mess they had gotten themselves into. Quite the bit of fun. Maybe it was the Lion’s roar, but he hadn’t thrown himself into the fray as quickly as he might normally have done. His friends seemed to be doing an admirable job without him, getting into a few scrapes but wiggling a way out of them just as soon. As foggy as his head was, he slowly brought himself to his feet and chugged the last of whatever the maid had brought him moments before the fight. The almost briny liquid went down with a bitter aftertaste, just like the evening was. A body came flying through the air, knocking into him from behind. The stocky Dwarf stumbled, but his low center of gravity saved him from taking a face-plant into the wooden floor below.

“Alright you spoony bards!” He turned around and threw his stein at the face of the man who bumped him, the toss catching him square between the eyes and felling the vagrant in one blow. “Come at me, but save the spirits! They’ve done nothing to ya!” Without realizing it, his invitation was more well received than he had anticipated. Apparently, a few of the patrons had just been waiting for an opportunity to throw a few punches his way. Not that he could blame them. His wit and abrasive charm was part of wait made him, him. One of the men’s fists connected with his hardy, well formed jaw. A crack erupted from both his face and the man’s hand, sending both reeling. Bofvar quickly brought his own hand up and popped the dislocated joint back into place, the pop satisfying and the pain dulled by liquor. “Like a face of marble chiseled by the gods,” he called after his attacker, spitting out some blood as he did so.

The other man shifted his feet, a small knife appeared in his hands from some unknown source. Undeterred by his mate, who was currently nursing his hand, his evenings of self pleasure obviously out of commission for a while, the other lunged and went for quick horizontal slashes slashes at the arm. Bofvar’s height at once gave him an advantage as he ducked under the attack, his body plowing forward and tackling the taller man against the wall. The impact of the blow loosened his assailant’s grip on the small blade as it tumbled harmlessly away. “Oi, bringing a knife to a bar fight. Your mother raised you wrong, boy!” With an effort of great strength, he lifted the man and flipped him end over end, before slamming his head against the ground. Two down, the whole rest of the bar to go.

Nimbly ducking in-between the blows and people lining the floor, he tried his best to make it out the door, where it seemed the others might be trying their best to go. Almost to the exit, a woman crossed his path and hit him right in the arm. He was taken aback, not by the blow, but by who threw it. She couldn’t have been more than an inch taller than him. He had fell men almost twice her size. Throwing up his arms, he backed away, a wry smile crossing his lips. “Little lady, I don’t want to fight you.”

“Good!” The girl shouted and brought one of her legs up right between his own. A nearby table was the only thing that saved him from collapsing entirely, his eyes filling at once with stars and then with darkness, before slowly regaining his composure. The woman didn’t let up, however. She pounced on his back, her hands flying against his head and reaching around to yank his beard. The long growth of hair securely wrapped in her hands, she pulled on it like a yoke and reared back. He stumbled out into the alley, darkness embracing the two as he did. The only light coming from whatever artificial sources were nearby. Throwing his back against the alley wall, he kept it up until the woman fell off and slumped down, her breathing come in hurried and shallow.

“Now,” he wheezed, his testies still sore from the prior blow, as he leaned down to look her in the eyes. Brushing the auburn hair from her face, he tried his best to get a better look. “You’re fortunate,” he whispered to her and saw her eyes look up at him as he spoke. “Most men would have made you pay dearly for that.” He drew closer, his face directly in front of hers. “I’m just going to let you off with a warning.” The girl smiled, her face trying its best to look as innocent as possible before she reared back and headbutt him, blood starting to drip down her face. As he stumbled back again, she scrambled to her feet and took off down the alley, disappearing into the night.

“Wait!” He shouted after her, his hand running to his head almost in disbelief. It was too late, she was gone, probably never to be seen again. “I like that in a lass...”

Victoria "Alys" Taimor - The Broken Keg, Dalenham

Victoria didn't have time to thank Ava as she was lost into the fray of flying fists and hurtling bottles. The floor beneath her feet was covered in shards of glass and wood amongst a mixture of blood, sweat and mead. She was injured more than before; her shoulder now aching much more than it had before and several cuts were slowly coagulating on her face and bare skin.

Victoria looked around her, trying to find a way to escape, but all around her, hot, angry bodies collided with each other. The bad backed onto the far side of the tavern, possibly opening up into an alleyway or into a house beyond where the owners live; either way, it was a no go. The door was somewhere off to the side, but would be blocked by most of the fighting if it hadn't already sprawled out onto the streets. Over the roar of the crowd, she heard the sharp, shattering sound of a window being broken and an idea finally formed in her mind.

With her arm out of order for the time being, Victoria crawled beneath a small, two person table just as soon as someone was dragged off of it to join the brawl. On her knees with her back straight against the flat wood of the table, she took a couple of breaths in order to prepare herself. What she was about to do was crazy, but she still continued to look behind her, waiting for the perfect moment where her way would be free.

There! The light streamed through the window covering Victoria's body in it's white glow and she suddenly launched up from her feet, wheeling backwards and feeling the table collide with the window, glass showering down upon her. Turning quick before someone grabbed her, Victoria vaulted with her un-injured arm, leaving the hot, sticky brawl behind and feeling a cool wave of air wash over her.

Victoria's moment of victory was short lived as could not see any sign of Ava and was tempted to jump back into the brawl to find her. Retreating into the shadows across the road from the tavern, she watched patiently for Ava to exit, all the while trying to keep an eye out for any of the other members from their band of mercenaries to emerge.

Cassandra Alexandera- Dalenham, the Broken Keg

The sounds of war filled Cass' mind. The roars of men, the cries of women and children, the carnage of battle and the smell of blood all painted a picture of this beautiful chaos in her head. A vision was constructed before her and it was pleasant. Was she dreaming? She wouldn't put it past her. It had happened before. But it was different. It was like she was in the battle, not observing it.

"You dumb b*tch!" Cass heard a burly man roar. His breath stunk of a cheap ale and she could feel the saliva launch from his mouth all over her deceptively delicate features. He grabbed her by the collar of her low cut shirt, stealing a peek of her assets. This all felt too real to be a dream, and it was making her…uncomfortable. Surprisingly so. "I am going to do terrible things to you, and you are going to enjoy every moment of it, aren't ya?" More saliva. Lovely. Cass was still out of it. All that drinking hit her harder than she thought. How was the dwarf still conscious? Nevermind that one chick with the Fire ale. She looked like a wimp, too. Cass needed to stop underestimating people. The feeling in her hands were returning though, but her head was still woozy. The thick wind from the man's putrid mouth was getting closer and an intoxicated group of men gathered around. Cass was surrounded and she felt….pressured to act. To defend herself. To fight back. But she felt weak. Helpless. Didn't she get knocked out a few moments ago? Some pretty boy did it too.

Ugh, Cass thought to herself. What's wrong with me?! Why am I getting rusty? I only killed like 42 orcs today too. My body count was at least 69 the other day. I made sure to get that number too. Cass felt a tear run down her cheeks.

"Oh hey guys! The ***** is crying. How cute! She must realize how ****ed she is!"

"Not exactly," Cass said, subconsciously. She had no idea what came over herself. "That tear was for you."

"Eh?" A suddenly a loud crack echoed through the Broken Keg, living up to its namesake. The man who had grabbed Cassandra was sprawled out on the floor, his left leg limp as if every bone shattered into pieces. The encircling crowd was speechless. Dumbfounded, even. In its wake, Cass fixed her outfit, cleaning herself off a bit.

"Who's next?" She said, cracking her neck and knuckles.

Cass kicked up a stool from under a local patron, grabbed in midair and broke it over the head of an attacking patron, dodged another attack and drove a leftover piece of wood into the leg of another. A quick quarter turn lead to a mean left hook in which Cass could feel the man's face mold around her fist as she launched the man into the ground. Two more men attacked at the same time and Cass stumbled over her feet, unable to keep her balance. The alcohol was slowing her down. One grabbed her from behind and the other punched her in the gut. The man kept up his assault until Cass swung her legs up and kicked the man back, causing him to fall back into a table. Cass flung her head back, knocking the man who grabbed her square in the noise with a loud crunch. She freed herself and then lifted her knee into the man's groin, making him fall back in pain.

More victims threw themselves at Cass, and she dodged the attacks with a clumsy dance of steps, often throwing the attackers into one another with a mix trips, elbows, punches and headbutts. Cass made her way to the bar, fighting through the crowds with a few cuts and open wounds. A couple of brutes thought it was clever to pull out their knives and slash at Cass, but she disposed of them easily enough by driving their knives into their shoulders with a fancy parry she learned from Varian. At the bar, she drove two attackers heads into the counter leaving a little bloodstain as a reminder. She kicked up another bar stool and threw through the crowd, parting them and making a straight line back to her sword that was left on the ground. She returned to its resting place on her back and stood in the middle of tavern, hiding from the fight to catch her breath.

The door out of the Broken Keg was blocked. Far too much fighting to go through and she didn't want to kill anyone. Dalenham was too important of a city to be wanted in. A small fickle of brilliance came over her, which was surprising. Cass was never one for bright ideas. That was Varian's speciality. She was only really good at fighting and surviving. Cass grabbed a relatively innocent bystander and chucked him out the window with a thunderous smash of shattering glass. Cass dived out the window after that instant, rolling on to the cobblestone street.

Varian Sigmund- Dalenham. the Broken Keg

Varian had a plan. It wasn’t a very good one, given that the people of Vanaheim had naturally larger bodies than most of the other nations. Nevertheless, what Varian wanted to do most in this barfight was to simply observe. He wanted to watch how the others of his group fought. He wanted to see what tactics they used, what fighting styles they employed, how they used their surroundings, and maybe even how they fought alongside each other. A barfight was the perfect chance for Varian to get a good look at his new team for the upcoming job they had, and get some ideas on assigning them roles in the team based on their strengths and weaknesses. Besides, they say in Aerion that you can’t join a mercenary group until you’ve had at least one good barfight. This could sort of be like an initiation.

Of course, all that didn’t matter because of the fact that he was being targeted apart of this as well. Though he may not be the tallest or biggest Highman these patrons ever saw, he happened to be in the center of the entire entanglement, and therefore a prime target. A man came at him with a fists flailing, clearly drunk but with Varian as his intended target. As the man leaned in for a punch to Varian’s face, he sidestepped and placed a leg in front of his feet, causing him to stumble over. Varian brought him down indefinitely with a punch to the back of the head. He looked over just in time to see Alys sidestep a rather large man and causing him to run straight into the side of the tavern.

Fast. He noted in his mind, just as a bottle came flying at him. He ducked at it, the bottle instead crashing into the wall behind him. Alys was then hit on her shoulder, which he could tell was probably injured from before. Out of pain, she collapsed on the ground. Not bodily strong, Varian thought in his mind, but as he thought this, a precise kick to the man’s knee caused it to most likely break. But…resourceful. Varian was suddenly hit from behind with what he believed to be a kick to his back. He grunted in pain, and turned to face his attacker, a smaller man, and quite stocky as well. He was grinning, believing his preemptive move was all the advantage he needed to finish off Varian. Fool.

Varian intercepted his next punch, and squeezed down on his wrist, which produced a shriek of pain from the man. The man, desperate to try to free himself, launched his other arm at Varian’s face, which was also intercepted by his hand. Varian then proceeded to give the man a headbutt right to his face. The force of the hit must have immediately knocked him out, but to be sure, he picked him up and dropped him onto a table nearby, breaking it in half under the weight of the fat man.

He looked up, just in time to see Alys in the arms of another muscular patron. He thought of helping for a moment, but saw that Ava had already taken up that role. Willing to come to the aid of a comrade, He noted about her. It was good. Often, groups of mercenaries came only to care about their own lives and little or none for the others of the group. Her next move was something the likes of which he hadn’t seen…probably ever. A few quick gashes from a broken bottle, followed by a lemon on the wound. Unconventional, but effective, He thought. That would be useful, someone who thought quickly on their feet.

A bottle suddenly hit Varian on the back of the head, causing him to fall to the floor in pain. He momentarily thought he would black out, but shook his head and attempted to come to his senses. He felt the back of his head, and looked at his hand to see a bit of blood on it. Varian turned to his attacker. It was the same man from the League of Warriors that partially initiated the fight to begin with. “On your feet, Highman! I’ll take you on fairly. Let’s see how a warrior of the north fights!”

Idiot. Varian shook his head as he reached for a shard of glass from the bottle on the floor, and hid it in his hand as he slowly rose up. Then, in one swift movement, he stuck the shard right on the eye of the person. He yelled out, holding his eye in pain as blood began to flow from the wound. He flailed at a few tables around. “This isn’t a joust. There is no fair, there is no honor. There’s just you and me, and anything we want to use as weapons.” The man began to show signs of recovery from the immense pain of his eye to glare angrily at him, read to attack. Varian in the meantime, grabbed a stool, and threw it on the man, causing him to cover up, and allowing him to run right at the man and elbow him right on the jaw, seemingly knocking him out right before he hit the ground with a deep thud.

Varian turned just in time to see the dwarf Bofvar get connected by a punch to the face, but not backing down to much. Can take a punch, he observed. Bofvar was, it seems, the typical dwarf. Loud, rowdy, durable. All traits Varian liked. He felt the two would not only fight together well, but get along quite splendidly as well. That is, if he didn't end up pushing Eveamoorian daisies too soon.

Varian turned once more to get a look at Cassandra, but really, after years in her company, was there anything else he needed to see about her? She was absurdly good with her blade for her size, and able to come up with the most irregular means of fighting an opponent he had ever seen. And that was when she was drunk. Despite thinking that this barfight did give him some insight on the others, Cassandra proved to him a long time ago that what you see with your eyes isn’t always what you’re going to get. He was sure there was much more to the others, but that would have to be seen as he continues to fight alongside them, if they manage to stay alive long enough, that is.

However, as Cassandra chucked a man out of the window of the bar, it seemed like a signal for Varian that it was perhaps time to get the hell out of there. No doubt, guards would have heard the commotion by now, and were on the way to put whoever began the fray in jail. Alys seemed to figure this before Varian had to say anything, and Cass was out of the tavern soon after. To the rest of the group, he yelled after. “Oi! Come on, we’re getting out of here!” The tavern window was broken from the man Cass threw out, but as Varian burst through it a second time, a larger area was open to climb out of, easing the passage for the other three. He landed on his feet with a large thud of his weight, though adrenaline pumped through his body, he felt the minor stings of the injury to the head he had recieved earlier, along with a slight new pain on his shoulder. Taking a look at it, he noticed as a piece of glass stuff onto him from the window. Ignoring it for now, he walked over to Cass, helping her onto her feet. “Come on. Let’s move away before the guards show up.” He said, leading them over to a smaller street away from the main marketplace, and away from the mayhem of the Broken Keg.

__________________

A Legend once told me that roleplaying is about bringing people together and celebrating creative vision.
Paired with the ArtsyInfinite and the Spectacular Shak

Chaos erupts throughout the bar in an instant. Xeye takes in the sights of her environment, rushing to her feet wide-eyed to get the hell out of there.

"C'mere!" snarls an angry, drunken man behind her, yanking her blue hair to grab a hold of her, pulling her in before wrapping his other arm around her midsection.

The man's right arm throws itself over her neck, getting caught in a head lock in an effort to disable the feisty woman in his arms. The girl squirms around as the man reaches for the woman's skirt, grabbing the top and beginning to undress her. Wrong target. Xeye lifts her right leg, focusing before throwing her heel back to smash into the man's knee. Unfortunately, this only causes the man to squeal in pain, stumbling backwards before he crashes into the ground on his back, Xeye's neck still caught in his arm's grip. Not good enough. The half-elf manages to free herself from one arm though, and that might be enough for her to turn the tables on this fight. Her right arm swings at the man's forearm, pinching some of his skin before his other arm comes back around her midsection. Surprising the man, the flesh around Xeye's grip begins to twist and turn with the growth of dancing flames, burning away the flesh on his forearm. The woman throws her left leg up before bringing it down upon the man's lerft knee, releasing his grip in agony before the half-breed thrusts herself to her feet. Her gaze fixes on the panicking man, clutching his right arm in terror.

"She's a witch! A mage!" screams the man, eyes stretched to their maximum as he points at her in fear.

Xeye reacts before he leaks too much information, stabbing his blubbery belly with her strong left heel, sending him into the legs of a table, causing its contents in addition to the table itself to land upon his vulnerable body. In an instant, the man's body is completely engulfed in flame, the fire spreading rapidly after a flammable mug of alcohol drenched his body. Xeye uses this chance to escape, breaking through the door and rushing out onto the ****** street with a few others of her band. Her assailant, however, runs around in fear, crashing into several other patrons and tables, which only serves to spread the inferno much quicker, setting ablaze other crazy drunks as well.

Varian soon joins the rest of them outside, Xeye picking up her pair of axes she left outside and mounting them on her harness as she fits its around her figure. Hearing the loud, terrified bellowing from the bar's interior, the impish woman turns her gaze to their "captain", so to speak, the girl smirking in his direction with one of her axes leaning over her right shoulder.

"Wolf Pops!" squeaks the half-elf, hoping to grab the Highman's attention. "Can I destroy this dump of a bar? Pleeeeeeeaaase, Wolf Pops!?"

__________________

My posts look too short, so I'm going to misguide the general public and artificially enhance the length of my posts with this garbage of a signature!

BAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAGAGH...

...

In a world without substance, a nonsense signature is only appropriate!

This ship trip should be much more bearable than the last now I've gotten a toy. Auden thought as he carefully began folding Tamor's clothes, the pleasure of playing with her still fresh. He placed the clothes in a neat pile close to her slumped form before admiring his handiwork which was currently scarring her body in the way of blistered cuts. Reaching out, he ran his hand along the gash on her back, finding joy in the feeling the blisters and cut gave his fingers. Ah, such a wonderful gash.. this feeling of blistered and bloody skin.. He nearly lost himself in thought before taking pulling his hand back to regain his composure once again. Taking a step back he sat down in the rooms lone chair and began looking over her once more.

She definitely has elf ears, though she definitely looks more like a dwarf. A half dwarf, half elf person was definitely a rarity in the world and Auden had yet to see another that wasn't Tamor which lead him to wonder how her parents had met. A lot of scenarios ran through his mind as he tried his best to figure out the most plausible before deciding a drunken one night stand was probably the most likely cause, which would explain why he had yet to see her father. Tamor you're a lucky girl, he thought to himself as he stood up and made his way to the door. “You'll never die as long as I live, and I'll try my best to see that you aren't hurt by anyone else either. I do take good care of my toys. I'm going to get you a drink, stay here.” He exited the room, closing the door behind him and made his way towards the galley once again. Ah, why did I even say that, she's still passed out.

The galley looked basically the same as when he first ventured in it while looking for a knife for his release from withdrawal hell. There was a difference though, there was now a few sailors working around the galley setting it for the crews next meal as well as a few kitchen staff who were going in and out of the kitchen. Catching a whiff of what was cooking in the kitchen nearly knocked the wind out of Auden, whom would have preferred a grand meal on the night that he finally broke his accidental cold-turkey stop in fulfilling his sadistic needs. Though slightly disheartened he continued onwards to a sailor whom was setting the tables. “Mr Sailor, I was wondering where I could get a glass of water?”

“Ah, just ask in the kitchen mate. They'll be able to set you up.” Replied the sailor, not taking his eyes away from the table he was cleaning.

“Why thank you.” Auden completed the pleasantries which would make him seem like he was a polite person now that he wasn't overly anxious about his habit. Inside the kitchen there was more staff than he had first thought, each seemingly having their own job in the process of making dinner, ranging from peeling potatoes to cooking up whatever it was that was hitting his nose hard. Looking around he spotted a rack of glass mugs that were close to a water barrel. What luck. Weaving around the busy kitchen staff he liberated a mug and some water without notice, though he was doubtful that anyone would care even if they had seen him.

Stopping on his way back to where he had left Tamor, he looked out of a port hole, the ship was now definitely sailing since on the edge of the horizon only had a slight outline of land. It reminded him of the trip to Ekilore, the memory of his withdrawal's leaving a sour taste in his mouth as he continued on to the room. To his surprise the door swung open just as he reached for the handle to reveal a puffy eyed Tamor. “He'll my darling toy, I got you a drink of water,” He was smiling gently as he spoke to her. “You're all puffy eyed, we should probably wait in the room until you stop crying.”

Crystia~"Crystia." The elf to which that name belong answered, after having listened to the armored man list of his credentials as though they made him some form of leader, when not a single large-scale battle or commanding victory was contained within. She moved past him with a few steps, heading on to the deck of the ship along with the Captain's orders of setting sail for the horrid seas. "However, Rolly, I don't see any part in that list of titles that marks you as a good leader. Being able to control your own bodily functions is all well and good, such as in that tournament you're proud of, but being able to control other people is what marks a good leader." She leaned briefly against the side of the deck and turned her piercing gaze completely on the man, brushing aside her bangs only for a moment. "So I will not be following your orders, and you will kindly respect that."

With that dismissal over with, Crystia gracefully climbed up the mast of the Captain's ship, having to maneuver about with more balance than she would have liked thanks to the lack of a true ladder, but it was not as horrible as it would have been were she to attempt it while the ship was in motion. Restful nights were going to be rare enough, without having to worry about being thrown from the crow's nest like an unwanted visitor in a cow shed. Whatever the other so-called Knights were doing for the time being didn't matter much, as she had an entire ship to watch before she was stuck drudging through whichever horrors the people that tended to hide artifacts chose as safe environments for said relics. She would have more than enough of them then.

Another sailor was occupying the small section of the ship, though the elf paid him no heed despite the curious glance at a non-sailor sitting atop that spot. The view was lovely enough, stretching out across the waters that held promises of wonderful beauty and the darkest horrors that could ever befall a person. The deep blue was going to be her strongest enemy in the journey, but at least a lot of other people would die with her, in a curious twist of fate that doomed the people deemed saviors. But such were stories yet to be told, and for now she would be able to creep out the sailors by looking a bit like a ghost when night came. Or fighting off slavers, if that turned out to be the kind of people they were.

Knights of Ekilore- Welcome to Shingou

Much to the Knight's delight, Captain Crewe spoke truthfully and you see the land of Shingou in the horizon. An isolated island nation, Shingou has slowly grown into a relatively successful economic power built on agriculture and trade. It has been always been a keen interest of outsiders, but Shingou has remained a mystery as few scholars remain due to the homogenous population and the reclusive nature of its people. The rolling green hills and diverse geography in the north has remained the only notable characteristics of Shingou, as there is only a sole major city in Zhongshen where its emperor Taiki Okane rules the caste based society with an iron fist. However, because of the bustling trade and farming industries, small villages have been built along the shores and breathtaking green hills of the Shingouese countryside.

The black ship slowly pulls into the port town of Duānkǒu. Captain Crewe barked orders at his sailors, prepping the ship for landing and the crew for a swift yet comfortable arrival. Duānkǒu was an unremarkable town at best, with small buildings built around a fairly sizable port. Located in central Shingou, Duānkǒu was easily the largest of the port towns, almost reaching the status of "city" as far as foreigners were concerned. Fishing boats floated idly in the harbor and the port was full of larger trading vessels and smaller fishing boats.

Soon enough, Captain Crewe howled until the ship anchored at the port and was tied down to the poles that were dotted across the port. As the Knights descended down to the wooden port, mere feet above the crystal clear water of the Sea of Storms, there was reasoning behind the vast ocean of people before them. At the head of the crowd, waiting for the arriving Knights was a man of unremarkable height and build, surrounded by armored guards, with the distinct armor of the Shingou elite, called the Senshi in the local tongue. With long black hair and youthful features, he seemed to be like any other individual on the port but he was far from it. He wore a dark red silk robe with an elaborate design of golden mythic dragons embroidered on the robe. At least that is what the Shingouese called them. Floral designs were stitched on the edges of the robes. The man wore a blue silk shirt underneath the robe. A few fine golden jeweled rings styled his fingers, completing an image of wealth, importance and regality.

"Welcome Knights of Ekilore to Shingou," he said as he greeted the arriving knights with a low bow.

Varian Sigmund- Outside Broken Keg, Dalenham

Varian waited for the rest of the group to exit the tavern. He continually looked to the sides of the sh*t-filled streets in expectation of the inevitable appearance of guards. He hoped however, that he and the others would be long gone before they got here. He certainly didn't intend to spend the night in a cell the night before finding new work, especially one so rewarding.

"Wolf Pops!" The voice of Xeye filling his ears. Varian turned over to see her exiting the bar. Behind her, he noticed chaos still ensuing. He squinted his eyes, seeing not only fighting now, but also fire.

"Isir be damned..." He whispered under his breath.

"Can I destroy this dump of a bar? Pleeeeeeeaaase, Wolf Pops!?"

"What are you, mad?" He bellowed at the tiny girl. "Are you fixing to get a price on our heads? Or hanged?!" His gazed remained on her for a few moments longer, before he gazed away back at the streets. He could hear the guards apparently already on their way. "Gods...!" Alright," he began, addressing the group. "Do what you want. I care not. But mark me. Tomorrow upon the dawn, we set out on the job. If you're not present, I'll take it as a sign you've decided to part ways. That, or you're in the dungeon. Or dead. Whatever the reason, we take off without you."

Without another word to the group, Varian grabbed a hold of a still very drunk Cassandra on the floor of the ****-filled cobblestone street, and slung her over his neck, taking off to one of the many roads away from the tavern. Whatever they decided to do, he'd see the others tomorrow. Or not.

***TIMESKIP***

Varian Sigmund- Edward's Tavern, Dalenham

A sharp pain came from the center of Varian's forehead. He groaned, placing a hand upon the area of discomfort, as if to try and rub it away. Ironically, went he rubbed his hand around the area, he felt an oddity, and looked back upon his fingers to see the remains of dried blood. Despite the throbbing in his head, Varian sat up, his gaze lingering on his fingers for a moment longer. As he looked around the room, a few questions came into his mind. How did he end up here? Where exactly was he? And who in Isir's name was the unclothed woman lying next to him?

As he got out of bed and began dressing himself, he contemplated these questions. Parts of his body ached as he looked at a few places were new bruises and scratches were formed. Some of them he was able to identify from the barfight. Others were new to him, their origin likely afterward, but from what Varian could recall. By the sound of his movement, the woman began to stir, yawning and stretching her limbs as she opened her eyes. She looked up at Varian who stared down at her. Her features were quite nice. Long brown hair and eyes to match it. She was well-figured, and her skin was smooth and relatively flawless. For a Dalenham girl, at least. There was a moment or two of silence between the pair, before the woman gave the Highman a smile, and spoke softly. "Good morning." She said softly to him.

"Good morning." He stated back to her. He continued to dress himself as he placed on his sleeveless leather vest, and then his baldric over that. Harnessing his axes upon his back, he looked back down to the woman. Again, a brief pause between the two. She continued to smile up at him, while Varian shifted between examining the room and the woman. "Sleep well?" she asked him.

"More or less." Varian replied. He paused momentarily on what he should say next, but then decided to blurt out, "So...shall I pay you now or have I already done so last night?"

The next sight Varian saw was a hand coming upon his cheek, smacking him loudly enough that perhaps if others outside the door were present, they too would have heard it. Varian's cheek instantly starting becoming red from the slap. "Right." He said, heading for the door. "I suppose that means last night..." He said in a rush, exiting the door, just as the woman began cursing after him.

On the other side of the door, Varian found himself in the familiar sight of Edward's tavern. The old, creaky, filthy-looking tavern looked much the same as it did when he entered it the day before to collect his silver for the job, though some tables appeared to have been damaged. A few stools also appeared to be out of place. Varian began to recall a bit of what happened though it was all very hazy. After he split apart from the group, he and Cass must have headed here. He remembered Cass challenging him to another round of drinking. He didn't remember exactly how, but the damned woman had somehow managed to coerce him into it, and the rest was history.

"You silver-tongued devil, you." The familiar voice of Edward said to Varian from behind his counter at the helm of the tavern. He smiled spitefully at the Highman as he cleaned a mug with a dirty rag. He headed towards Edward without an immediate reply, rubbing the side of his face as he tried to orient himself.

"How much for the room?" Varian asked in his usual cold voice.

"Oh, you already paid las-", Edward stopped himself in the middle of his sentence. "...Uh, that'll be fifteen bronze pieces." He said with a smile. Varian did not bother to put up a fight about the ridiculous price of the room, still feeling the effects of the no-doubt large amount of drinking he had done the night before. He placed the bronze pieces from his bag onto the table, and looked around the dump of a tavern.

"Have you seen Cass around?"

"Eh? Not since last night. Boy did you two go at it. Haven't seen this dump this lively since the Guild Wars! I should have the two of you drunk off your brains in my bar more often, it's great for business!"

Varian stopped listening to the man after he mentioned he hadn't seen Cassandra, and began to head for the exit. Edward kept on shouting after Varian as exited the bar, and for a while too as he was outside, but eventually the sounds of his voice faded away as he integrated back into the main street. Varian was able to get it together along the way, shaking off most of the effects of liquor through the 'fresh' air of Dalenham, and was feeling loads better as he approached the gates of Dalenham, where the group was supposed to meet. Already at the gates was the merchant, who beamed at the sight of the first of them.

"Ah! You have come! I was worried none would show, especially after that incident that happened last night at the tavern you were frequenting. Did you hear about it? Terrible news, the guards even had to arrest a few ruffians."

Varian kept his silence, not replying to the merchant beyond the initial nod he gave him upon seeing him. But he did wonder if any of those 'ruffians' the merchant spoke of that now occupied the Dalenham dungeons were any of his group. He supposed he would soon find out.

__________________

A Legend once told me that roleplaying is about bringing people together and celebrating creative vision.
Paired with the ArtsyInfinite and the Spectacular Shak

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